


Teacher's Pet

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: shoot au prompt: gen is shaw's adoptive daughter and they just moved to NYC. gen goes to a sleepover one night so shaw takes the opportunity for a night on the town. she meets root at a bar and they have a night of fun. that same week is gen's school's parent teacher conference and when shaw goes in to meet gen's teacher, she finds out gen's teacher is root.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teacher's Pet

"I'm home!" Genrika Zhirova shouts, tossing her backpack to the ground at the door. Kicking off her loafers, she runs with a slight hop in her step towards the apartment's living room. There is a single couch surrounded by unpacked boxes, and the smell of paint is still fresh in the air, even with the windows left open.

Walking further into the house, eyes scanning, she enters the kitchen. Hopping onto the counter, she opens one of the top cabinets, sights set on a late lunch. Finding a can of raviolis, she plops down on the counter, crossing her legs at the heels, and pulls open a drawer. Picking a knife up out of the silverware separator, she places the tip of the blade against the can's top before drawing her hand up slightly, ready to strike it.

"Hey, hey,  _hey_!" A voice shouts, and Gen stops, eyes widening, knowing she's just been made. Looking up sheepishly, Gen sees Sameen Shaw headed her way, eyes a mix of astonishment and anger. Coming up to the counter, she swipes the large knife from Gen's hand, stowing it back in the drawer. "They make this great thing called  _can openers_ , you know," Shaw tells her, handing her the instrument with a disproving purse to her lips. Gen, taking it, narrows her eyes.

"I've seen  _you_  do it before," she mumbles, and Shaw sighs; a small smile finally breaking on her lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You see too much, kid," she says before running a hand through Gen's curly hair, fluffing it up. The child smiles gleefully, then sets to work on the can. "So, how was your first week of school?" Shaw asks, reaching up to grab a bowl.

"It was really good," Gen tells her earnestly, pulling the lid up and allowing the contents to pour into the bowl. "I made a hole bunch of friends, and I really like my new computer teacher- Miss. Groves- she thinks I'm really good with them and is already giving me advanced stuff, and I think I might want to join the soccer team, and-"

"Woah, one thing at a time," Shaw says, leaning her back against the counter and looking over at Gen. "Soccer, huh?"

Gen nods, frizzy hair bouncing wildly about her. "All my friends are already on the team from last year, and Megan thinks I'd be good at it."

"I agree with Megan," Shaw replies. "You're fast, tough, and we both know from your last school you are very good at kicking things."

"He kicked me  _first_!" Gen squeals, swallowing a bite of her lunch. Then, something lights up a memory in Gen's young eyes. "Megan from computer class asked if I wanted to sleep over her house tonight," she says, Bambi eyes already coming out.

"It's a Thursday," Shaw points out.

"Her mom can drive both of us to school tomorrow."

"I've never met the kid."

"Pleeeeaseee, Shaw?  _Pleaseeee_?" Gen begs, clasping her hands together and leaning over, forcing Shaw to look into her large, innocent eyes. Shaw rolls her own.

"Fine," she agrees at last, and Gen's face glows.

"Yes!" Gen yells triumphantly, wrapping her arms around Shaw in a tight hug. Shaw doesn't smile, but there is a softness to her usually stoic posture. Letting go, Gen slides from the counter, ready to pack. However, half way from the kitchen she stops and turns. "Can we still paint my room over the weekend?" She asks.

"Any color you'd like," Shaw replies. With that, Gen dashes off. Once she's out of hearing range, Shaw lets out a sigh. She looks at all the boxes to unpack, and her back howls in a painful reminder. Between her new job and unpacking, her muscles hadn't had a single break, and they knew it. Yet, knowing that they were not only in a better home, but that Gen was in a better school with better friends seemed enough to keep her from complaining. She'd never been one for emotions- still the isolated introvert on even her best days- but Gen brought out a different side to her. Since she'd taken the girl in nearly six years ago, she'd expressed more compassion than she could have ever thought possible before. Although it was all dialed down and nonexistent for everyone else, Shaw protected and cared for Gen as if she was her own all along. And, as far as Shaw is concerned, she always has been.

Hearing footsteps and the jingling of a backpack, Shaw brings herself from her thoughts in time to see Gen heading back her way.

"Do you have a jacket?"

"Yeah."

"School clothes?"

"Mmhmm."

"Phone?"

" _Yes_ ," Gen sighs out in exasperation. "I'm  _twelve_  now. I can pack my own bag." Shaw narrows her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. She keeps her stare locked onto Gen, holding it there until she begins to fidget under the gaze. "What?" She asks.

"Just trying to figure out what I'll ever do tonight if I don't have  _you_  to hang out with," Shaw replies, and a bright smile comes to Gen's face, paired with an idea in her eyes.

"You should go out," Gen informs her as they head towards the front door.

" _Really_?" Shaw asks, partially skeptic and partially amused. "Do I really seem like the 'going out' type?" Gen giggles at that.

"No," she responds, "which is why you  _need_  to. You never go and do anything." Shaw rolls her eyes before pulling open the door.

"Want me to walk you?" Shaw asks, starting to follow Gen out the door.

"No thanks," she responds, beginning to bounce with the excitement of a sleep over.  _Her first sleep over_. "It's only a few blocks away from here."

Shaw wants to protest, to tag along or follow behind, but decides against it. Even though it doesn't show, there is a slight feeling of apprehension growing just behind her solid eyes. Sure, Gen had had friends over once or twice at their old place, but they always left before night, and Gen was always home. It wasn't that she made her stick around, but Gen always seemed more into computers than people.  _This will be good for her_ , Shaw assures herself.

"Alright. You remember what I taught you?" Shaw asks, and a devilish grin comes to the girl's angelic face. Shaw can see the martial arts moves and self defense training playing in Gen's blue eyes.

"You bet." She begins to run down the hall, stops, then rushes back, barreling into Shaw and wrapping her small arms tightly around Shaw's waist. Shaw remains stiff a moment, then encases Gen in a hug, forcing the smile off her face.

"Have fun," Shaw tells her quietly, kissing the top of her head. Gen's grin replies that she will, and she energetically bolts off once more. "And, Gen?" Shaw yells down to her. "Call me in the morning." Gen sends her two thumbs up, then races out of sight.

Shaw waits just outside the door a minute, as if Gen would be coming right back, then retreats back into the new apartment. She thinks of calling Detectives Carter and Fusco- her new associates. Finishing up her time as a marine, Shaw found a place as a blue blood, working in the southern parts of New Jersey for a few years. During that time, she'd picked up Gen, along with a few unfortunate goldfish. However, after eight years of working her ass off in domestic disturbances, she'd finally found the break she hadn't known she'd been longing for. NYPD. Homicide division. She took one look at the form on her desk, and knew there was no other option. Three weeks later, here she was. A small family in the Big Apple.

Right off the bat, they were hit with a bone rattling case. A dead child, without means of identification, nor any leads as to who the perpetrator could be. The trio had been working taxing hours to make any breaks, Shaw usually logged onto the NYPD's servers late into the night after Gen went to bed, sifting through every database for any clues. Nothing seemed to be turning up. However, knowing she'd spent more hours on this one case than her entire love life, Shaw acknowledges that she will make no headway if she continues to stare at the same screen another night.  _I need to step back, clear my head, and look at it tomorrow with fresh eyes._

Walking into the living room, Shaw's second order of business comes to mind: unpacking. However, at the mere mentioning of the word her calves begin to shriek and her biceps begin to sizzle. Her back groans and stiffens, and she scraps the idea entirely. Looking out a window, she sees the sun dipping low into the sky, allowing the city's lights to truly come alive.

 _Maybe Gen was right_ , Shaw admits to herself, looking down on the vibrant lights with the likeness to a child in a candy shop. _Maybe I should go out- just this once._

______\ If Your Number's Up /_______

All around her, the sounds of clinking glasses and rolling laughter mingle in with light music that spills from a radio behind the bar. Shaw sits, legs crossed and fingers aimlessly swirling a thin straw around in a glass, eyes rather bored with the dull-lit scene surrounding her.  _Not so interesting in a new city_ , she thinks to herself, taking a draught of the colorful liquid before her.

From behind, Shaw hears the scuffing of chairs against the wooden floor, then the heavy thud of boots, and two men saunter up to her with cocky eyes and slick smiles. She barely gives them a glance, drawing her attention tiredly back to her drink, watching the ice swirl around and around. There is a sudden change of pressure at her side, and the smell of beer and sweat hits her. Looking to her right with unamused eyes, Shaw finds a man with a dark, thick beard and greasy grey eyes sizing her up greedily. He leans against the counter on his elbows, tattoos exposed all the way up his meaty arms until they meet a denim vest. She gives him nothing more than a contemptuous look over and sneer before returning her attention back to the beverage.

"Aren't ya gonna ask if you can help me?" He asks with a voice like gravel and tar. Shaw doesn't look up, but her voice is tinged with frost.

"Do I  _look_  like your waitress?" She asks.

"No," a different man says, sliding in towards her a little too close for comfort. "But you could serve me  _any_  day." He makes a clicking noise with his teeth and winks. Shaw looks up at that with a snort, spiteful eyes paired with a dangerous smile directed his way.

"I'd rather shoot you," she says, then rolls her eyes. A thick hand comes to her bare shoulder, and she tenses visibly.

"Woah, honey, no need to be feisty," the second one tells her, and she tears herself from him with a burning hatred, standing up with murder in her eyes. He has to be six foot five with the body of a brick wall. And- upon seeing Shaw's furious outburst, a cold gleam erupts in his eyes. Just as she goes to reply, a large hand engulfs her hip, and she is pushed rather roughly down into her seat. Her eyes whip instantly to the first man, as an unimpressive half smile appears on his sickening face.

At once, Shaw wraps her hand around his wrist, fingers barely able to completely encircle it, and she can feel her nails closing in, mindset ready to snap his radial and ulnar bones like toothpicks. She can see the scenario playing out in her head. Snapping his wrist; driving the heel of her hand into his nose as he lunges forward in angered protest; using his momentarily dazed state to stand from her stool, and pick it up in her hands; smashing it first into the second man's chest before he has had time to take in the situation; then, to top it all off, cracking the heavy metal stool down over the first's head, leaving them both sprawled out on the floor in no more than forty-five seconds. However, as she feels the rage like fuel burning in her chest, one thing comes to her mind: Gen.

She thinks of the girl's young face, and can only imagine how it would contort at finding out the news. That Shaw, their first week in the city, had been thrown in the slammer. There'd be no one to bail her out- they didn't have anyone but each other. Shaw thinks of Gen's excitement of having real, honest friends, and how excited she was to hear about Shaw's new place in homicide.  _I can't do this to her_ , Shaw thinks, forcing herself to swallow down her predicament. With nothing shy of loathing in her onyx eyes, Shaw throws his hand away forcefully, bristling.

"You'll have to excuse Phillis, here," the first man tells her, gesturing to his comrade. "He's a little grabby on the first date." Shaw rolls her tongue across her teeth, feeling the astonished repulsion rising up in her. "Why don't we take you out and make up for it?" He gives her a yellow-toothed grin, and Shaw half expects worms to writher out of the gaps between them. Without even trying to put on a faux sweet counter front, Shaw gives him a tactless reply.

"No."

"Oh come  _on_ ," he breathes out, the stale alcohol in his breath suffocating her. She places her hands atop the bar's counter, knowing that if she doesn't keep them in sight, there is no guarantee that they won't sneak out her service weapon. "You'll have fun." Shaw narrows her eyes.

"I'll have about as much  _fun_  as Juliet did stabbing herself in the  _chest_ ," Shaw spits back.  _Just go,_ she wants to tell him- only in words less kind- and nearly does when a slimy smirk comes to his face. Still leaning his elbows on the edge of the table, he looms over her in his stooped position, making it impossible to walk away from the chair without him acting as a blockade. He licks his lips sloppily, and Shaw can feel her stomach turn.

"You're coming with us," he says with a final air of authority. "Because Romeo wants to meet you." His eyes spark at the line he finds clever, but Shaw can only grimace.

"No means no, ass hat."

Just when she thinks he is going to make a grab for her again, a silent presence makes herself known, and in no way subtle.

"Hey, Sweetie," this mystery woman says, her voice coming from just behind the first man. A second later, he is pushing himself off the counter as she slides into the stool next to Shaw's, forcing herself into their small crowd. When Shaw first sees her, she feels her breath catch slightly in the back of her throat. The woman wears a bright, dazzling smile and glowing, mahogany eyes. Her voice is sweet like honey and warm as summer. Shaw can feel something different about her; a radiance of light that hovers over her shoulders and illuminates her face softly like a halo.

Yet, Shaw is jarred from her musings as the woman slips her hand naturally over Shaw's, attitude not skipping a beat.

"Sorry, I'm late," she continues, setting down her cellphone on the bar. "I had the craziest day; you wouldn't  _believe_  it." Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw watches the men exchange weary looks before slowly edging their way back to the shadows. "There was this one guy at work, and he was trying to make coffee in the break room, but..." The woman trails off, eyes flittering across the room in search of the men. When she sees them no where, a sigh escapes her seemingly perfect lips, and she takes her hand from Shaw's.

Almost at once, she drops the gushy gaze and adoring stare, bringing herself to face the bartender and raising her hand slightly to order a drink. Shaw watches her a while, not saying a thing. She takes in the woman's profile; her chocolate hair that cascades across her shoulders in waves; and the lacy, long sleeve shirt she wears. Shaw, taking mental inventory of her own black tank-top and jeans, feels suddenly underdressed.

The bartender drops off the woman's drink, and she sips it slowly before finally bringing her focus back to Shaw.

"You gonna stare at me all night, or say something?" She asks in amusement, and Shaw's brow furrows slightly. "I can feel your eyes burning a hole through the side of my head," the woman explains, and Shaw swallows, looking back to her partially melted drink. It's the woman's turn to watch Shaw now, and she does with an expectance in her eyes. A few, silent minutes pass. "Okay..." She says a last, a hint of dejection creeping into her voice. Shaw clears her throat.

"What was that about?" Shaw asks, peering back over. She can see the excitement coursing into the woman's face, and there is something like wonder in her eyes.

"So, she  _does_  speak," she says; however, her voice is not as suave and cunning as before. "I see these guys all the time," she tells Shaw, a conversational manner to her tone. "They've badgered me a few times as well." The thought of them putting their hands on this newcomer sends a rush of blinding fury up Shaw's spine that she can't quite explain. The woman seems not to notice, and merely shrugs. "Reckoned I should step in. Name's Root, by the way."

Shaw rolls the name around in her head a moment, committing the seemingly unique name to memory before replying. "Sameen." Root smiles at hearing it, and Shaw finds her ears growing hot; she desperately wants to change the subject. "So, uh, Root. You come to the rescue of  _all_  the women in the bar?" She asks it as a joke, but an unexplainable part of her honestly craves an answer. Root rolls her eyes, sips her drink, then responds.

"Nope," she tells Shaw, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips as she leans in slightly. "You're quite the special case." Shaw can feel her heart pick up slightly; yet, she keeps her gaze even to Root's.

"Thanks," Shaw sighs out at last. "Owe ya one."

"So, what is it you do?" Root asks her, swiveling in her chair as to face Shaw. Shaw keeps her posture relaxed, front facing the bar still; all the while, she uses it as a counter front for the electricity zapping her with every thought. And it's not just the drink.

"NYPD," Shaw responds, and Root's eyes become impressed.

"Maybe I didn't need to rescue you, after all," Root coos, leaning an arm on the bar as she fiddles with her hair subconsciously. Shaw tries not to stare, to pry her eyes away from the action before she becomes transfixed.

"You got me out of it a lot easier than I was managing."

"So tell me," Root says, a dark smirk on her face. "Does this mean the next time I'm arrested, I'll see you?"

"Only if it's for murder," Shaw deadpans, and Root lets go a mellifluous laugh that floods Shaw entirely.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," Root muses, drinking her beverage in thought.

"You haven't," Shaw tells her, polishing off her own. "First week here. First night in the city." Root coughs, the contents of her drink nearly spraying across the counter, and Shaw draws back in surprise.

"This is your first night out, and you're spending it  _here_?" Root asks incredulously, then shakes her head; hair flying about her. "No. No, we're going somewhere else," she says, pushing her nearly finished drink, and stands.

" _We_?" Shaw repeats skeptically, and Root peers over at her with stern eyes.

"Yes,  _we_ ," she replies as if Shaw has had an obtuse moment, then grabs Shaw's wrist, pulling her up and toward's the door. "You owe me one, remember?" Shaw let's out a groan, regretting the words she said earlier.

"This is why I don't mess with pretty girls," Shaw grumbles, and Root looks back at her with animated eyes.

"Are you calling me pretty?" Root asks slyly. Shaw, the closest to mortification she's ever come, feels her ears grow hot.

_______\ We'll Find You /_______

A night club and one or two drinks later, Root drags Shaw out to fifth avenue for yet another adventure. Only, this time, it wasn't necessary for Root to seize Shaw by the wrist to make her move; Shaw follows on her own now, and more easily than she'd admit.

"You do realize I've at least  _been_  to New York City before, right?" Shaw asks as Root selects the cheesiest tourist shop on the strip.

"Yeah," Root replies, entering the cool building. "But you've never been to New York City with  _me_." Shaw rolls her eyes but doesn't resist, merely following Root through the aisles of cheap trinkets and t-shirts that practically scream ' _Mug Me.'_

Root plucks apple-shaped sunglasses from a shelf, and places them over her eyes. Continuing down, her black fingernails click against the wood of the wracks, scanning each silly accessory. She finds a felt, oversized top-hat hat that reads 'I ❤️ NY' and places it on her head. Its oversized opening allows the hat to flop down far over her ears, the top resting on the frames of the red apple glasses. Shaw, watching Root's childish enjoyment, can't help but smirk.

"Can I ask what you're doing?" Shaw asks, a bubble of humor in her words. Root lets the glasses slip down on her nose, eyes exposed in the small slit between the top of the shades and the brim of the hat.

"I'm having fun."

"Do you have this kind of  _fun_  often?" Shaw asks, using her hand to address Root's new fashion statement. A large grin comes to her face as she toys with a small Lady Liberty.

"No," she replies. "But I've always wanted to. Here," Root says grabbing something that looks like an Abraham Lincoln bobble head gone horribly wrong and holding it out to her. "Grab some stuff, and then we can each take a picture."

"A  _picture_?" Shaw echoes, and Root smirks.

"I'll do yours if you do mine." At Root's words, she can feel a hotness rising like steam within, yet doesn't allow it to show on her face. Instead, she pulls out her cellphone.

"I think we can just stick with you this time around," Shaw tells her, swiping her cell into camera mode. "You look ridiculous, by the way." Root rolls her eyes.

"Ridiculously  _wonderful_ ," Root corrects before striking a small pose. Shaw snaps the shot just before an older, Chinese woman turns the corner into their aisle. She is dressed in flannel and white jeans; hair tucked back into a tight bun. Her eyes are livid as she sees the two meddling around.

" _You_! Get out of my store!" She hisses at them as Root places the things back down. "Get out,  _now_!" For the looks of her age and the slight hump of her back, she is incredibly agile, pouncing forward in large, calculated strides.

She shoos them both from her store before slamming the door shut behind them, eyes murderous. The two continue speedily to the block's edge before Root stops, setting free an exhilarated laugh.  _You're almost as bad as my twelve year old,_ Shaw wants to tell her, but she keeps it in. Too busy listening to speak, and too lost in sight to see anything clearly.

They've stopped just to the left of a street lamp, and it bathes them in an orange light. Shaw can see how Root's hair catches it, igniting each strand on fire; and how it edges her entire frame, making her glow. Root's face is illuminated clearly, showing off an accomplished smile and overjoyed eyes. As Root breathes out, a light mist leaves her lips, curling up into the chilly October night's air. Her laugh is stunning, like the tinkling of perfectly tuned bells, all harmonizing in a beautiful wave of sound. Root slips her phone out of her pocket, checks it, and her smile shatters.

"God, it's late," she mutters to herself in a shocked manner before stowing the device back into her pocket. "I have to go back to my apartment," she says, wistful undertones in her voice. Shaw, surprisingly, knows just how she feels.

"I'll walk you there." Root's eyes flicker with gratitude, and she begins to lead the way. They snake up and down dark streets and black alleys, coming finally to an apartment complex illuminated by soft lights and blanketed with multicolored trees. They walk up the small cement pathway to the front door, then travel across a modestly furnished lobby to the elevators. Shaw tries hard to stay calm, but it feels exceedingly hard.

The space is large enough for the both of them, but small enough to keep their arms brushing at the slightest movement. From the corner of Shaw's eye, she can see Root peering over at her with something like curiosity. She forces herself to stare straight ahead, studying each scuff and dent in the elevator's door, feeling her nerves jolt higher and higher each time they collide. Finally, just when Shaw thinks her burning lungs will burst and her racing heart will collapse, the doors slide open. Taking a deep breath of the cool air, she begins to feel her body relax.

"Scared of elevators?" Root asks, coming to stand beside her. Shaw shakes her head, then the two travel on. Their footsteps are silent whispers against the old, green carpet of the hallway, and Shaw takes in the peach colored walls that are slowly starting to peel at the trim. Root stops abruptly at one of the white painted doors, and Shaw nearly smack into her from behind.

As Root slips her hand into her back pocket for her keys, Shaw realizes just how close she is to the woman she met not four hours ago. She brings in a steadying breath before exhaling, then watches as a shudder travels down Root's back. Instantly, her nerves catch fire once more. The door's lock clicks, and Root turns in place, wedged between the door and Shaw. Shaw tries to step back, but her feet are cemented to the spot. She looks down at them with an angered flicker to her eyes, silently scolding them for their lack of cooperation. With a final glare, Shaw starts to look up; however, before her eyes can even focus, there is a light pressure on her lips.

Colors explode before her as she stands, shell shocked, eyes wide. Then, with her brain processing what is going on, she lets them fall closed. She can feel bottled up adrenaline leaking into her veins like an IV drip, and suddenly every thought she had through the night crashes back to her. Before she knows it, she is pressing back- hard. Her hands slide to Root's waist, and at the same time, she feels hands gliding up her shoulders. Her fingertips touch the door, and she knows that Root is pinned against it, which only brings her body to a whole new level of fire. Her nerve endings are enhanced, leaving everywhere Root touches magnified with sensation. Root's lips part for her, and Shaw finds an exhilaration course through her; not really knowing how much she wanted this until now. Her hands slide down to Root's hips; she feels Root gasp against her. Root's hand tightens on Shaw's shoulder, other caught haphazardly in Shaw's hair.

They kiss once more before Root turns her head to the side, taking in a jagged breath. Shaw, with her lips grazing Root's jawline now with her proximity, feels the raggedness in her own breathing. She stands there, not wanting to overstep but not wanting to step away either.  _Not that I could_ , Shaw admits to herself, Root's hands like fire on her skin. Shaw opens her eyes just in time to see Root bite the side of her lip before letting out a despairing sigh. She brings herself back to face Shaw, eyes closed, and lets her forehead rest against Shaw's. She can feel the hard rise and fall of Root's chest against her, and tries to swallow her nerves as they aggressively mosh about in her system. Shaw keeps her eyes on Root's face, and can't help but see the wistful look on it.

"I have work tomorrow," Root says at last, sounding tired. " _You_  have work tomorrow. And we've both probably had more than our fair share of drinks." Shaw thinks back to her two glasses, and knows that she hasn't even began to graze her limit of alcohol; moreover, that the buzz in her head has nothing to do with vodka or rum. Even still, she finds herself slowly nodding in agreement. "So..." Root lets out a breath that intoxicates Shaw with the smell of cherries, "goodnight."

"Night," Shaw replies, the word feeling thick on her tongue from the cluttered mess of her mind. Root presses her lips together in thought as she untangles her fingers from Shaw's hair. Then, she kisses Shaw with lips that contradict every word she just uttered.

She's gone. Before Shaw can even open her eyes, she feels Root slip from her fingers, and a door closes softly before her. She takes a few numb steps down the hall before leaning on the wall, mind spinning. She blinks her eyes a few times before shaking out her head, then checks her phone for any messages from Gen. She sees none, but takes note of the time.  _One thirty in the morning_. Looking over her shoulder at the apartment door, Shaw walks back to the elevator, stuffing her hands in her pant pockets as she tries to get anything except Root to come back to her mind.

_______\ Teacher's Pet /_______

"Who was the woman you were with last night? " Gen asks over the phone at six thirty in the morning. Shaw, sitting at her desk with a case folder and heavy eyes, takes a minute to process.

"Who?"

There is a silence at the other end of the line, and Shaw can see Gen's eyes narrowing at the unsatisfactory response. "The woman in the  _photo_?" Gen tries again, speaking slowly, and Shaw purses her lips at the young girl's tone. But then, something hits her.

"How did you get that," Shaw demands, mind reeling through the night. Clear as day, Shaw can see Root suited up in tourist garb, striking a small pose with a small Statue of Liberty. She hadn't sent it to anyone, and wasn't on any social media sites.  _So how does Gen have it?_

"The  _Cloud_ , Shaw," Gen answers as if it's obvious; Shaw gives herself a smack to the back of the head.

"Sometimes, I think you could have been a spy in another life," Shaw grumbles, placing the folder down harshly on the table.

"So... Who is she?"

"Someone I met when I went out last night."

"It's someone she met last night," Gen's voice travels distantly to the phone, and Shaw can hear faint giggling in response. "You know who she kinda reminds me of?" Gen asks, voice crisp once more in Shaw's ear. "She reminds me of my-"

"Chop, chop! Time to  _go_!" A woman's voice shouts in the background, accompanied by the clapping of impatient hands. There is shuffling on the end of the line and footsteps intertwined.

"I gotta go," Gen says quickly, voice rolling in and out as she scampers off towards the car. A young girl's voice prattles on just far enough for her words to be unintelligible, but Gen lets out a gasp before continuing. "Oh yeah, I totally forgot!" Gen exclaims. "They're having parent teacher conferences today at five. Can you go? I  _really_  want you to meet my teachers, especially the computer teacher- she's my  _favorite_."

Shaw thinks of her schedule for the day.  _If I skip lunch, I can probably just make it, then finish reading some paperwork at night_ , she says to herself, eyes scanning back and forth across an invisible agenda.  _As long as our witness doesn't take too long in interrogation, I should be fine._

"I'll be there," Shaw tells her at last, and Gen lets out a small, girlish squeal.

"Great! I can't-"

"Come  _on_ , girls! We  _have_  to  _go_!" The woman's voice shouts once more, hands still clapping to help annunciate her words. Shaw feels a twinge of distaste surfacing in her at the woman's peevish tone.

"I'll see you after the conference," Gen rattles out to her. "Love ya, Shaw."

"Love you too, kiddo."

The line dies at once, and, Shaw- after looking at the receiver- drops it back into its holster on the desk. With a sigh, she picks the file back up and begins to look it over. She can feel her brow furrow, and tries to force herself to see the words on the page, but they only bleed into senseless ink splatters.

"The damn Cloud," Shaw hisses under her breath with the shake of her head. Her mind wanders once more to the photo, then trails to the person in it. She can see Root in her mind as she scans hopelessly through last night's events. She finds herself at the door of Root's apartment before the miniature slide show clicks off in her head. It leaves her with a head full of tormented questions and boiling thoughts.

 _Who was she?_  Sure, Shaw could tell you her name, her address, and her apparent taste in drinks, but she knew very little about the woman from last night. And it bothers her immensely.  _What does she do? What does she like? Hell, what's her last name?_  She has the answer to none of these things.

 _What does it matter,_  a more bitter part of her mind retorts.  _It's not like you'll be seeing her again anyway._  The thought settles in like a boulder on Shaw's chest, giving her a sort of disappointment she isn't used to feeling. Even if she went back to that bar or that nightclub or that store, the chances of her stumbling into one person among thousands a second time is astronomically slim.  _And there's no way in Hell I'd just show up at her apartment._  Shaw can envision the humiliating feat behind her eyes and lets out a soft laugh. So, no, she would never see this woman again.

That eats at her also.  _I shouldn't be so attached to someone I met one time and for one night,_  Shaw tells herself.  _She's just another pretty face, anyway_. However, even before the sour thought crosses her mind, she knows it isn't true. There was something different about Root. Shaw had felt more or less indifferent to anyone other than Gen. She could flirt, sure, and she could always put on a sly and intrigued act. But Root wasn't like that. Something clicked on in Shaw's head that hadn't with anything else, making her feel more than she ever knew she could. It was raw emotions, nothing fabricated or helped along. Root kept her on edge, not only because she didn't know what would come out of Root, but also because she didn't know what would come out of herself.

 _And then, there's what happened outside of Root's apartment_. Shaw doesn't have a word for it, mostly because there is too much about it for one word to sum it all up. Before she had Gen, Shaw was indifferent to it all. If something happened, it happened, and it was never a big deal to her. She could drop it by midnight and forget it by dawn. Then, when Gen came along, she didn't do anything of the sort at all. It seemed terribly unnecessary to her, and something she could easily live without. Root, however, made that all seem impossible. Her touch was a necessity; her mouth as easy to live without as water, as blood- as oxygen. And Shaw could do anything but forget. Even at the thought, Shaw can smell the fantom of cherries.

 _It was a night of fun, sure_ , Shaw tells herself, nearly giving up with the documents before her,  _but it was also something more._  However, with a slight jab in her ribcage, she comes to the realization that that was only a night of fun for Root.  _Purely play, and nothing more_. Shaw's certain of it, positive that Root has all but forgotten her name, and would barely recognize her face. The thought looms over her like a despairing fog; soaking her in the heavy thickness of sorrow and longing.

"Hey, nine lives, what's got you lookin' so beat?" The New York accent of Detective Lionel Fusco pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks him over, grasping for what he said, before answering with the only thing can tell an officer trained in telling truth from the lie.

"Share settings on the God forsaken Cloud."

_______\ Person of Interest /_______  
  
The bell rings, signaling the close of an endless sermon. For upwards of an hour, the elementary school's principal chattered zealously over the wonders of their school; his gratitude for every single student being; his amazement at the school's outstanding staff; and his continuous praise to God for such a fortunate position. He introduces himself as Principal Finch, keeping a steady limp as he paces back and forth across the wooden floor. Behind dark rimmed glasses, his eyes are powerfully stern, lip scrunched to the side as he takes in every member of his audience. Kept to the side in a large cluster of chairs are a multitude of students, Gen included. Although an optional post, they could stick around until their parents arrived. As Shaw watches, she can see Gen chatting away with the girl at her side, and smiles.

In the stands of the large, brightly lit gymnasium, every parent felt themselves shoved back in high school, returning back to their old ways. Women talk to each other in hushed whispers, sharing gossip and recipes, while men recap days of football championships and ditching such class get-togethers. A few, tucked away at the top of the stands or at the edges, slip into their jackets with sleep. Across the way, a man lights a cigarette, and the smoke billows up from the bleachers.

Shaw herself can feel the drag, her butt gone numb nearly a half hour ago, and she fidgets anxiously. Her eyes continuously travel back to the large clock on the wall, the minutes eating away at her slowly. She can no longer hear what the principal says; mind swirling around a million different things.  _Gen's physical for soccer, paint shopping, the murder case; Root._  However, the school bell cries out like the promise of salvation, and everyone in the room lets out a relieved sigh. Without waiting to see if the lanky man would continue, parents begin filing eagerly out of the doors.

 _Three-sixteen, three-sixteen,_  Shaw repeats again and again in her head, not wanting to forget the number. Not that Gen hadn't already drilled it into every crevice of her brain. Heading for the stairs, she travels with thirty or so other parents up the flights. By the time she is at the third floor, she is only one of six.

The building reminds her of a hospital. Everything smells of sterile cleaner, and all of the walls are barren, allowing the blinding florescent lights to burn and bounce off of each surface. Shaw's heels echo down the hall on the tiled ground; not reminding her at all of her youth.  _Schools were filled with the smell of perfume, sweat, and desperation. They were loud with the screeching of wild cats, the growls of snarling wolves, and the cackles of hyenas. The halls were a mess of color; each time the school ran out of paint, they'd just pick up with another color. The walls were decorated in art painted there by students, and scuffed from all the kids bumping up against them. They were littered with graffiti covered lockers, and the students always made a joke of the dirt that never seemed to leave the floors._ Those days were filled with life; this place is a morgue. Even the lockers are white and glimmering with cleanliness, leaving Shaw to wonder if they only made it this spotless for the conferences.

Nonetheless, she pulls her head from her daydream as the door greets her. On it, in front of the small window cut out of the wood is a sign that reads:

Please do not enter the room while door is closed

The penmanship is clean and impressive, and Shaw leans herself against the wall to wait. Apparently the computer teacher isn't only Gen's favorite teacher, for there are three other parents waiting eagerly before her. With the agonizing speed of snails, they file in one at a time. Shaw constantly checks her watch, bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. It's only been five minutes, but it feels like five hours to her restless mind. _I just want to go home, take a shower, and enjoy the friday_ , Shaw thinks to herself, watching as a group of young boys bust through the hallway cackling and shoving each other about. She's ready to leave as well- the only thing keeping her here is Gen.

Shaw wonders if she needs to visit every teacher as the person before her finally exits the room, and- shaking her head free of thought- enters.

Looking around the room, she is overwhelmed by the vast number of computers packed into the space. The walls, in deep contrast to the halls, are covered with computer art and strings of code; to the point where the eggshell walls are barely visible at all. On the wall at the front of the room hangs a large banner with curling letters.

_Even Douglas Carl Engelbart was just a student once._

Shaw's eyes slip from the decoration to a desk at the front corner of the room. A woman with her dark hair pulled up in a loose bun types rapidly into a computer, back to Shaw. There is a chair situated just before the desk for the parents to sit, and Shaw walks forward with the silence of a graveyard to take her seat. Once she is comfortably situation, the woman rolls her chair to face Shaw.

Shaw's eyes widen, lips sliding into a small but disbelieving 'o'. Across from her, the teacher has a similarly shocked countenance. Her mouth drops open wide, closes, then opens again before she can find her voice.

"S-  _Sameen_?" Shaw blinks hard, wondering if her eyes are lying; however, upon opening them to the same view, her heart gives a jump.

"Root," she responds in an even tone, not allowing an ounce of what she feels to escape. Root's face is still drawn wide in surprise, and Shaw can't help the smirk that quirks up at the corner of her mouth.

"I didn't realize you had a kid," Root says with an air of awe in her voice. Shaw rolls her eyes.

"Funny, I didn't realize you had twenty-five." That seems the remedy to Root's paralysis, for she smiles with a flame of amusement in her eyes.

"Twenty- _six_ ," she corrects. They are both silent for a minute, taking each other in. Shaw can feel her throat becoming tight, and her ears are trimmed with red. She coughs.

"So, uh, what do you talk about at these conferences?" Shaw asks. Root doesn't take her eyes from Shaw's as she reaches for a clipboard.

"Depends on who you're here for."

"Gen- er- Genrika Zhirova." Root's eyes widen at the mention of the girl's name, and Shaw's narrow. " _What_?" She asks, a little too defensively.

"I've been waiting all night for her parent to come in," Root says, busting into a grin. At Shaw's questioning eyes, she elaborates. "She's brilliant with computers- much more advanced than this class allows."

"She did mention something about getting harder work," Shaw comments, thinking back to the day before. Root nods before continuing.

"I'm treating her like a Computer II student instead of a Computer I. Hope you don't mind."

Shaw shakes her head.

"Do computer skills run in the family?" Root asks. Shaw can't help but laugh.

" _God_ , no," she chuckles out. "I don't know  _where_  she gets it from."

"She's a great kid," Root tells her with the gravity of honesty in her words. Shaw gives her a quaint smile.

"The best." Root watches her a moment more before a large grin overcomes her, and she begins to snicker. Shaw cocks her head to the side in question, and Root- waving of her laughter- catches her breath.

"I constantly hear her talking about this ' _Shaw_.'" She explains. "I thought it was a cat or something; I didn't realize it was you. She talks highly of you."

"For a pet or for a person?" Shaw shoots back, and Root lets her head back in a mellifluous laugh. Shaw takes in her features and can't help the warmth that spreads across her body as the sound floats like heaven into her ears. She thinks of that laugh, and how she would never tire of hearing it. "She's the same way about you. Told me all day that I had to make sure I came here before anything else."

"Well," Root says, amiable smile turning a little more intense. "I'm glad she did." Shaw can feel a hotness creeping into her cheeks, and hopes that it doesn't show. She would never tire of that smile either. Shaw finds herself in silence once more, but not one that she minds.

"Me too."

At the words, Root sits back in her chair, eyes pleased as her cheeks flush with the lightest shade of pink, and she scribbles something down on a paper with Gen's name printed on the top. There is a knock on the door, and both look up. Past the sign in the window, Shaw can make out a set of agitated eyes and an annoyed purse of lips under a thick mustache. Checking the clock positioned behind Root on the wall, Shaw is surprised to see ten minutes have gone by- far longer than any of the other meetings before her. With a sigh, Shaw stands from the chair, and Root- rising as well- holds out the thin strip of paper. Shaw takes it, hand brushing over Root's unintentionally, and an electric current soars up her arm, amping her heart to full speed. She makes it halfway to the door when she hits an invisible wall. It's like a lasso strapped tight around her, pinning her arms down and pulling her back around to face Root. One question she had forced down the entire conference is ripped from her mouth by hands unseen.

"Does this mean I'll be seeing you more often?" She asks. The smile that glides onto Root's features leaves Shaw's lungs begging for air.

"I think you can count on it," Root replies with the scrunch of her nose, and Shaw turns quickly away, not wanting to her face to reveal at thing. Walking out of the door, she peers down at the paper in her hand. At the top is Gen's name, her grade in the class, then a small box left for comments. The first bullet point reads, 'a real delight to have,' with a follow up of, 'talented and a constant source of light in the class.' With the last remaining inch of space, a small but tidy cell phone number is penciled in.

"Did you see her yet?!" Gen's voice greets her at her left, and Shaw stuffs the paper into her front pocket at once. Looking over, a soft smile surfaces on Shaw's lips.

"Yeah, we just got done talking about  _all_  the trouble you cause," Shaw tells her jokingly, and Gen giggles.

"Isn't she great?" Gen asks as they head back towards the staircase. Shaw, with a bubbling amusement rolling up within her, slings an arm around Gen's shoulders, pulling her closer as they walk.

"She's something,  _that's_  for sure."

"I  _really_  like her, Shaw," Gen confesses truthfully, looking up at Shaw with innocent eyes. Shaw, casting her gaze kindly back, lets a smile slip across her face that has more than one meaning. Then, narrowing her eyes in the act of serious consideration, she replies,

"So do I."


End file.
